


So Close, for So Long

by orphan_account



Category: White Collar
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-08
Updated: 2010-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neal offers to give Peter a birthday present, Peter asks Neal not to come until he gives him permission to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Close, for So Long

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All Week](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13760) by [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah). 



> Mature and explicit. These characters belong to the USA channel and Jeff Eastin, not to me.
> 
> This was first posted as a prompt fill at the LJ White Collar kinkmeme. There it was called "The Gift." It was inspired by the story "All Week," by Laylah. I totally imitated the structure of her story for this.

Sunday was Peter's birthday, and he spent it with Elizabeth. He didn't see Neal on the weekends; that was part of his understanding with his wife, and since his birthday fell on a weekend – no Neal.

Monday Neal was waiting for him, in their favorite third-floor bathroom, a lascivious grin on his face. "I want to give you a birthday present," he said, pulling Peter toward him by the lapels of his jacket. Peter was having none of it. Well, he intended to have it, but not on Neal's terms. He was feeling irritated. He shoved Neal up against the wall and put his hands down Neal's pants. Startled, Neal fumbled a moment before shoving his own hand down Peter's pants. Whatever Neal had had in mind for a present would have had more finesse, more artistry, but since this was what Peter demanded, Neal gave it to him.

Peter came first, Neal managing to keep his trousers clean for him – their office trysts had taught them both how to hide evidence – and Peter let go.

"Hey," Neal cried, grabbing his wrist with a sticky hand. "What are you doing?"

"You really want to give me a birthday present?" Peter asked.

"Yeah," Neal said, with doubt in his voice. His cheeks were flushed, and he squirmed from the loss of Peter's touch.

"Then don't come until I say you can. Will you do that?" Peter wasn't sure why he asked this, but it had something to do with being irritated with Neal.

Neal's grip on Peter's wrist tightened. "That's what you want? Why?"

Peter leaned in close. "Will you do it? For me?" He had no idea he was going to ask for this, but he knew he wanted it. Wanted Neal to agree to do something Peter couldn't normally control or monitor. Wanted him to obey.

Neal looked at him with widely dilated eyes, trying to understand. Then he looked to the side, so Peter couldn't read his eyes any longer. "Okay," he exhaled.

"Okay." Peter pushed away from him, triumphant. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd just won, but he planned to enjoy it. "Then back to work." He reached forward to zip Neal up, but Neal batted his hands away.

"Not if you don't want me to come," he said with a weak smile, fastening up his own trousers. Peter chewed on his lip, restraining his still powerful desire to touch the other man. But – he took the warning seriously and backed away, turning to a sink so he could clean inside his shorts.

They made small talk on the way to June's that evening. Elizabeth also understood if her husband stayed late with Neal in the evenings. Office quickies were risky, and Neal's rooftop suite provided both privacy and luxury in which to sate their appetites. Peter had been staying late at Neal's at least twice a week, sometimes almost every night. When Peter stopped at the curb for Neal to get out instead of parking around the corner, Neal gave him a wide-eyed look. "You're not coming up?" he asked.

"No."

"Then …" Alarm grew on Neal's face as he examined the possibilities. Peter's breaths came faster, watching Neal realize was his sentence was.

"That's right," Peter said. "You're not coming tonight. At all. If you want to give me a present, you'll wait until I say you can, all right?"

"But, how long?" Neal hadn't expected this.

"I don't know yet."

Neal swallowed and Peter hadn't seen anything so arousing as Neal's need in a long time. He was beginning to understand what he wanted, if only Neal was able to give it to him. He set his hand on Neal's thigh and felt the tension there. "I need this to be real. If you come, tell me. No consequences, because I have to trust you. I don't know if you can do this. I don't know if I could. If you can't, tell me and we'll just – think of something else. But this is what I want, and I need you to be honest about it." He looked directly into Neal's vivid blue eyes. "Let me be clear. Don't come with me, don't come with someone else, don't come by yourself. Don't come in the shower, or in bed or in the bathroom. Not at all until I tell you you can."

Neal regarded Peter soberly for a long moment, and Peter could almost hear him thinking. Neal put his hand on Peter's and carefully removed it from his thigh. "You're the boss," he said with grin and got out of the car. Peter felt strangely energized.

That night, when Elizabeth commented on how unusually horny he was, Peter told her what he'd asked Neal to do. He was relieved when she didn't seem to think it strange and twisted. "So, you'll be late home tomorrow night?" she asked. "I'll be at the Martins' rehearsal dinner."

"I don't know," Peter replied. "I'm not sure how long I want to make him go. I'm not sure how long he can go. I'm surprised he agreed to it. I wouldn't."

Elizabeth smiled. "Neal would do just about anything for you, Honey. You're not going to just leave him until he gives in and jerks off, are you? Because he would feel like he'd failed you. It would be cruel."

"Right. No, I'll try and catch him before he falls, if I can judge that. In the meantime," he rolled on his back and looked at the ceiling, "just think of it. He's at his place, right now, trying not to think of jerking off. Looking for distractions."

Elizabeth played along. "Maybe he'll go out to eat or catch a movie."

"Nuh uh, movie theater, sitting still in the dark, nice and private. Too easy to start rubbing."

"Really?" asked Elizabeth, her cheeks pink. "I had no idea." She reached for him, and they had another go of it while somewhere, Neal didn't.

Tuesday morning, Peter quizzed Neal in the car. "Are you waiting?" he asked. Neal flashed him his brilliant smile. "I am, don't worry. What are we doing today?"

As it happened, they spent Tuesday almost entirely apart. Peter had senior staff meetings all day and Neal was consigned to studying casefiles. They were both tired at the end of the day. Neal cocked one hopeful eyebrow at Peter as 5:00 rolled around. Peter shook his head. He needed to work late and Neal could get to June's on the subway. "You keep waiting," he said.

But, alone in his house with Satchmo, after some dinner and a glass of wine, Peter started thinking of Neal. Surely it wasn't that hard to not think about sex. You just get involved with something else. Something you have a passion for. Neal must have many interests in order to be so good at so many things. Not for the first time, Peter wondered what it must be like to live inside Caffrey's brilliant mind. He contented himself to dream of how it felt being buried inside Neal's willing flesh, and before he knew it he was digging out his favorite porn and enjoying some of the most satisfying self-gratification he could remember.

Wednesday morning, Neal was late and Peter had to call him to get him down to the car. He arrived, his usual impeccably, if anachronistically, dressed self, but his eyes were red and he verged on looking haggard.

"Tough night?" Peter asked.

"Trouble sleeping," Neal said without looking at him as he slid into the seat and buckled the belt. "Cindy came by. She wanted help with her--" he hesitated a fraction, "studies."

Peter gave him a steady look. "Neal?" he asked, trying not to put a tone of warning into it. He'd promised Neal there would be no punishment. If there were any kind of threat behind this, Neal would have no incentive not to lie, and Peter so needed Neal's sacrifice to be real.

Neal shook his head with a half smile. "No, Peter. I don't sleep with Cindy. She has a boyfriend and even if she didn't it would be –" he searched for the word. Relieved, Peter supplied, "unchivalrous?"

"Something like that." Neal's smile grew to full size.

Peter started the car and pulled out. "I didn't think it was like you to deny yourself when something you want gets put in your way."

"It isn't Cindy I want," Neal said quietly.

Peter's throat was abruptly tight. "What is it you want?" he asked.

Neal looked at him for a few seconds too long before saying, "Well, right now I really want to fuck. Or a hand job, blow job, I don't care. I don't sleep with Cindy, but after she's been around …" His smile grew rueful.

"You usually jerk off," Peter finished for him. Peter abruptly felt like a cad, and was annoyed to see that his hand had gone again to Neal's thigh. He started to remove it, but Neal caught it and held it there.

"Don't. It's okay," he said, and pressed into the hand. He slid it up to where Peter could feel the bulge beneath the material. He almost ran a red light. Peter blinked rapidly, staring at the intersection while the flesh beneath Neal's vintage trousers quivered beneath his hand. Peter felt a flush throughout his body.

"I'm familiar with quite a few kinds of sexplay, Peter," Neal said, rubbing idly against Peter's hand, "but I have to say, I don't understand this one. What are you getting out of it? Do you just get off on having me go around hard all the time?"

The light changed, and Peter didn't answer. He drove forward. Yes, yes I do. He felt light-headed. "Are you going around hard all the time?" Neal was growing harder as they spoke, still rubbing lightly. Nothing that could actually go anywhere, but which must be a minor torment. Peter blinked some more, trying to keep his head clear for driving. "It's only been two days."

"Says you," said Neal with an uneasy glance at the traffic Peter was barely negotiating. "I was busy all weekend."

The part of Peter that was still an FBI agent made a note to bring up Neal's movements during the weekend for review. But what he said was, "So when was the last time?" His breathing grew even heavier.

"Bedtime, Friday," Neal answered without hesitation. He pressed Peter's hand more firmly against his crotch.

Peter groaned quietly enough to be lost in the traffic noise. Two extra days – more like two and a half days -- longer than he'd thought. He moved his hand in a massaging motion and out of the corner of his eye saw Neal lean back against the seat so firmly the headrest knocked his hat askew. "I was really looking forward to giving you your present Monday morning," Neal said with a breathy attempt at lightness as he adjusted the hat.

Peter put his hand firmly back on the wheel. He longed to touch Neal, taste Neal, but this was safer in a number of ways. "You still okay with this?"

Neal pulled at his trousers, adjusting himself. "If it makes you happy, it makes me happy." He shrugged.

Thursday morning Neal assured Peter that he hadn't come yet; he was still waiting for Peter's permission. Neal had promised to show Peter's team some forgery techniques they could learn to spot, and Peter watched Neal all day. He still had reports to write, but was able to check in on them, making sure nothing Neal was playing with could be secretly converted into a genuine forgery and smuggled home with him. "You guys are watching him, right?" Peter joked with Cruz and Jones. "Neal, I may have to search you for counterfeits when I take you home."

Neal, the consummate conman, didn't respond to the innuendo in the slightest. He was always the better of the two of them at keeping up appearances. He faked a hurt look and said mildly, "This was your idea, Peter. Don't you trust me?"

"I have to trust you," Peter said, meaningfully. Once he left the office, the view through the glass walls of Neal's lean form bent over the sample document he was creating, expression rapt with devotion to the work, hit Peter with poorly-timed arousal. A glance at his watch told him he had enough time to jerk off in the obscure third-floor men's room that he and Neal preferred when they had to have an office quickie. It was on a floor dedicated to faxes and copiers, and most people never stayed there long enough to need to use the bathroom. Also, being outside the White Collar office, Neal and Peter could leave together as if on a case, but tarry unremarked at the third floor.

Getting off took the edge from his fantasies, but the lust remained and grew more insistent the longer he had to sit in meetings. By the time he was ready to take Neal home he was very worked up.

Neal, however, was relaxed and cheerful, having spent the day in the limelight as the expert consultant. He chatted all the way to June's, casting sidelong glances at Peter, while Peter tried to decide if he needed another day more than he needed to fuck Neal silly right now.

He pulled up to the curb and Neal jumped out. "I'm assuming you don't plan to come up tonight," Neal said off-hand, adjusting his hat.

"Why?" Peter asked, his voice coming out in a husky growl. "You have other plans? I haven't searched you yet." He licked his lips. Neal froze, eyes darkening. "Get back in the car."

Neal got in, lips parted, eyes wide as Peter drove around the block to the blind, walled and heavily tree-laden street they used for making out or for parking Peter's car if he stayed late. No doors and few windows opened on it, and Peter had even searched it for security cameras. Peter got out and walked to Neal's door. Opened it, and ordered, "Hands on the car, legs apart."

Neal got out slowly, gave Peter a look as if he was about to say something, but then pressed his lips together and assumed the position. Peter did search him, exploring hands feeling in Neal's pockets and for anything that shouldn't be there, but before long he was pressed against Neal's body, his dick pressing determinedly at the other man's ass. Neal's breath hitched and he tossed his head back revealing his long lovely neck. "You're still waiting, right?" Peter asked, grinding a little. "You'd tell me if you've come." He stretched his own arms up to Neal's wrists so Neal was sandwiched between him and the car.

"Since this morning? When would I?" Peter ran his hands down Neal's arms and to his underarms. Neal quivered.

"I have," Peter breathed. "I couldn't watch you every moment. Have you come?"

"No, Peter, I haven't. Ahh." Neal shuddered as Peter ran his hands over Neal's nipples. Neal pressed back against Peter's dick and ground. "I really want -- this is getting old. How about you come up? I can change my plans." Peter pulsed his hips into Neal's ass in time with Neal's jerks against him. Neal's desperation was beyond delicious. Much more of this, he thought, and coming up to Neal's suite wouldn't be an option. He'd have to haul Neal into the backseat of the car.

"How many times," Neal panted, "have you come?"

"What?" Peter forced his head to do the thinking and slid his hands down Neal's sides and along his exquisite thighs. Losing the pressure on his dick helped his thoughts clear.

But nothing had really changed for Neal. Whatever pressure was on his dick as he leaned against the car was still there. He still panted as he spoke. "Since Monday. How many times? I'm morbidly curious. I assume you aren't denying yourself and Elizabeth, while you watch me squirm."

Peter reached his ankles, resting a hand on the tracker, and considered whether he dared run his hands up the insides of Neal's legs. Anticipating that that would be where Peter's examination went next, Neal wriggled and shook.

"Neal?" he asked, gently.

"I don't – think – I can –" the beautiful creature beneath Peter's hands gasped out.

"Don't. Don't," Peter almost begged, alarmed. He stood swiftly, allowing Neal to come away from the car. "Neal, don't. Don't come," he said, still asking, not ordering. It might be too late and if Neal had to end this now, Peter wanted to be able to thank him, not chastise him.

Holding the side of the car, Neal put his head down and drew deep breaths. His hat fell off and Peter scooped it up, his own arousal fading as his concern grew. "Are you all right?" he asked, placing a hand on Neal's back and rubbing.

"Yeah," Neal lifted his head, "'M'okay. I just …" He stood up, and let Peter watch him get himself under control. It was the hottest look Peter had ever seen on him and he filed the memory away for later use. The hand Neal held out for his hat was reasonably steady. By the time he had it reseated on his head, Neal looked … better.

"Look," Neal said, still taking calming breaths, "I want to do this for you, but it's hard. I'm not exactly used to self-denial. I have to know why. You never told me what you get from this. Tell me."

Peter nodded, exhilarated by the close call. Neal was going to let him continue. He felt grateful and wanted desperately to kiss him in thanks. Right then he would have agreed to anything Neal asked. It was fortunate for his career that Neal didn't know that. He swallowed. "You asked how many times I've come since Monday, and I honestly can't tell you. I'd have to count. A lot. Just thinking of you, of you not -- of how it must feel … It's like gold, it's the best thing. I have to hide how turned on I am from Elizabeth."

He had Neal's total attention. "Why?" he breathed, pupils large.

"Because … because she appreciates the extra attention, but she's busy. It's great to make love over and over," Neal's eyes widened further, "but I can't get demanding about it. We don't always both have time. This morning I wanted to wake her up, but she came home late and tired last night and I still talked her into making love. I had to let her sleep. So I just jerked off in the shower. Twice. Neal, this is fantastic. For me," he admitted.

Neal was nodding, gaze fastened on Peter, lips parted. "Okay," he said.

"Okay?"

Neal looked away and then back. "I can do this for you, Peter. Now that I know – I can find a way. But not forever, and -- you may have to give me some things."

"Like what?"

"I may need … some help. Like," he looked at Peter speculatively. "I need other things, too, that I'm not getting." Neal sidled up to Peter like he was afraid of breaking something. He placed his arms around Peter's waist and tipped his head back. "Kiss me," he said.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked, holding himself still.

"Yes." Neal leaned in for the kiss, and Peter gave him one. It was chaste and sweet. Neal never failed to surprise him. They broke apart and Peter smiled at him. Neal smiled back. "I'll let you know," Neal said, and stepped back. He regarded Peter for a moment. "Good night," he said. He turned and headed down the street. Peter watched him go, and what he felt was sweeter than lust.

But he couldn't wait to get home to his wife or to privacy.

Friday morning Peter knew his time was running out. Neal was actually waiting at the curb for him and he slid into the car and practically into Peter's lap. He threw his arms around Peter's chest and cuddled up against his neck. Peter had a sudden armful of affectionate, squeezing con.

"Are you all right?" Peter asked into Neal's hat.

Neal nodded. "Touch me, Peter," he said. "Touch me a lot."

Still taken aback, Peter stroked his arm up and down Neal's back. It was almost all of him he could move. "We're out in the open," he reminded Neal gently.

"I don't care." Neal wriggled against Peter's torso like a rolling cat. Though Neal hadn't touched anything interesting, Peter couldn't keep from getting hard. Neal tipped his head back and began lapping kisses on Peter's neck. Peter huffed a small laugh.

"What is this, Neal?" he asked, sliding his arm beneath Neal's suit jacket so he was caressing the other man through his impeccable shirt.

"I'm starving for it," Neal said. "Touch. Your touch. I'm avoiding people because – of the other, but I need this so much."

"You're not going to last much longer, are you?" Peter couldn't keep the disappointment out of his tone, but the usual erotic thrill he got from contemplating what Neal was doing hit him intensely. It made the caressing and general making out they were doing difficult to bear. Peter began breathing hard.

Neal didn't answer; he continued rubbing as much of his upper body against Peter's as he could manage. "You're not, are you?" Peter asked, concerned. The forcefulness of Neal's demands for touch made him wonder if Neal hadn't made it through the night. "Is it already over?"

Neal stilled somewhat and looked at him, face flushed. "No. I would tell you."

Peter smiled fondly at him. "I need to hear you say it, though," he said. "Tell me you're waiting."

"Oh." Neal's eyes widened in understanding. "I'm still waiting, Peter. I haven't come yet. I won't until you say I can." God, the words were like fire in Peter's mind. Neal must have seen something on Peter's face, because he smiled and kept talking. "I want it so bad, I can't tell you. Last night I almost called you up to beg you to say I could come. I'm going crazy. Everything I see looks erotic to me."

Caught up in his narrative, Neal leaned back into his own seat slightly, though he still pressed against Peter's arm and nuzzled his cheek against Peter's shoulder as he spoke. "It's amazing how automatic it is, when you're alone, to reach down and just start rubbing." He demonstrated by sliding his hand to his own crotch where he began to pulse his hips. "I catch myself all the time, and then I have to find something to do, something else to think about." So far, Peter noted with fevered fascination, Neal hadn't caught himself this time. He continued to rub and pulse and his breaths on Peter's neck came faster. It wasn't going to be long before Peter would have to take himself in hand. His trousers, selected for looseness, were bunched up under one leg and pulling tightly over his dick. "Do you take cold showers?" Peter asked.

Neal made a face. "I hate doing that. I suppose I could give myself electric shocks, too, but no, I'd rather not."

"What do you do?" Peter asked. He couldn't help it; he had to adjust the cloth of his trousers and so long as his hand was there – abruptly Neal took his hand from his own crotch and reached across to Peter's. It was too much. "Neal," Peter groaned, squirming in desperation.

"Go ahead, Peter," Neal breathed against his neck. "No one's around. I love doing this to you." It wasn't entirely true that no one was around. Peter could see three pedestrians, and cars passed them along Riverside at sedate but uninterested paces. They should drive around the corner – to that spot. But their safe location seemed a thousand miles away, now, Neal's hand making space and time expand.

Peter was too far gone. So what if they were seen? Nothing could make him ask Neal to stop. But he had asked Neal to abstain, himself. How could Neal bear it? That one thought hurtled him over the edge and Peter came and came and groaned and shuddered. Like all of his orgasms this week, it was one for the record books. And this one was right in front of Neal. His eyes still shut, still transported, he heard Neal moan, "Oh God."

Peter pried his eyes open, though he could barely move any other part of him. Neal was turned away from him, opening the door. He leaped out and circled the car to Peter's door. He opened it. His face was flushed. "I'm driving," he said. "We have got to get to work."

Still completely wiped, Peter managed to trade seats with him and even enjoyed being driven to work. Neal watched the traffic diligently and seldom glanced Peter's way. Peter smiled all the way to the office, feeling as relaxed and comfy as if he were in his own bed.

Neal was distracted all day, and did a worse job than usual at disguising it. Jones was patient with him, but Cruz called him on it twice. Watching Neal squirm was the hottest thing Peter had seen in ages. He wondered why Neal was letting him do this, but perhaps he knew. He'd been so careful not to threaten. It only left one reason why Neal would subject himself to this, and knowing that plus watching Neal try not to watch him had Peter visiting the third floor every other hour. It was a good thing the week's workload had not been anything critical or dangerous.

In midafternoon, Neal followed him into the restroom. "What are you doing here?" Peter asked, cautiously. Neal smiled one of his dazzling smiles and flowed into Peter's arms.

"What are you doing here?" Neal breathed into Peter's ear. "I want to play, too." Then his hand was in Peter's pants, past the belt Peter had already undone, and into his shorts.

"Neal," Peter groaned, jerking involuntarily. He'd so missed having Neal in his arms, smelling Neal's shampoo, tasting … he found his arms were around the man's waist, pulling him in, caressing. Grinning even wider, Neal pulled his hand free so it wasn't between them, and ground himself against Peter, capturing his mouth with hungry kisses. Peter loved it, loved holding him and kissing him and smelling him – but Neal's attack was more than amorous; it was purposeful, frenetic, flirting with desperate. Alarmed, Peter realized Neal shouldn't indulge this much. It was too risky. "Wait," Peter said, starting to disentangle.

"No, Peter, no waiting, c'mon," Neal gasped urgently, refusing to release him. "Say I can come." Peter became acutely aware of the sensation that was Neal's desperately hard dick humping against his own, only cloth between them.

Peter pushed, succeeding in dislodging his panting, squirming partner, holding the man by the upper arms. "I don't want it to end here, Neal," Peter said, his own breath short. "Not in the bathroom." He released the other man, affected by the pleading expression on his face. Neal pulled him back into a fierce hug, his dick still rock-hard against Peter's thigh, but Neal managed not to rub. "Peter, it's the weekend," he said to Peter's neck. "I don't see you. I –" he squirmed once, but got himself back under control. "Don't –" as if alarmed by the pleading in his own tone, Neal fought to sound reasonable. "If you want me to wait the whole weekend –"

"No, Neal," Peter said, but Neal was running on, clinging to Peter like he'd been drowning.

"I'll try. I will try. But it's just –"

"Neal," Peter said, shaking him to get his attention. "Tonight. I'll come up with you tonight." The mingled hope and doubt in the look Neal gave him made him continue his reassurance. "I don't want to wait the weekend, either. I want you. I want to fuck you." Neal closed his eyes and paled, and for a moment he sagged and Peter had to support some of his weight. "But I want it to be nice, not here." He looked Neal in the eye as he recovered to standing by himself. "Can you make it 'til tonight?" It was not a rhetorical question, so he repeated it. "A few more hours. Can you last that long? Neal?" Peter was himself so overheated, he thought he could come at any moment.

Neal looked dazed, but gradually thought returned to his eyes. He put a hand to his crotch, adjusting his pants. Peter still held his upper arms. Neal stroked himself twice, then pulled his hand away, taking deep breaths. "Yes," he said, but his voice choked a little.

"Good," Peter sighed. "Good man. Now get back upstairs."

"You're not coming?" Neal asked, then winced at what he'd said.

Peter gave him a rueful smile. "Oh, yes. As soon as you're gone."

Neal bolted from the room, and Peter was barely able to get out of his pants and shorts in time.

Neal had spent the day trying not to squirm, while Peter watched him hungrily, but after Peter's promise that his torment would soon be over, he gave up hiding his distraction and need, at least from Peter. He fidgeted, he touched, he bumped, he smoothed, he took deep breaths with his eyes closed. He was driving Peter crazy, and Peter couldn't even feel sorry for himself, because Neal was in such a worse state. More than once Peter let his thoughts wander to what he wanted to do with Neal tonight and was abruptly forced to consider if they should just call off the waiting and fuck like bunnies on the bathroom floor.

He thought about returning to the bathroom by himself, since today would be the last of his chances at the mind-blowingly good orgasms Neal's predicament had been giving him, but, here at the end, it seemed somehow unfair. They were in this together, now. Why wasn't it five o'clock yet?

The drive in the car was maddening. Traffic had never been more slow. Released from the view of their office-mates, Neal indulged himself freely, a half-smile on his mouth all the way. He rocked urgently in his seat, he stroked himself, he rubbed his own nipples through his shirt. Not once, but three times, Peter had to remind him sharply, "I did not say you could come, yet." Each time, his tone and words shocked Neal out of it, his eyes flying open and his hands returning briefly to safe places. Then he turned to stroking Peter. He was viciously good at it and hadn't had much opportunity in over a week. Not content with frottage through Peter's trousers, he deftly picked the locks over Peter's dick and had his cool hand on Peter within seconds.

Peter jerked hard, twice, not expecting the direct contact, and slammed the brakes before slamming the Camry ahead of him. "Neal, don't," he cried.

As if reminded that he'd had reservations about Peter's driving when Peter _was_ in control of himself, Neal retreated swiftly. "Do me back up," Peter ordered, hoarse.

Neal obeyed, though his hands on Peter's belt and zipper were not chaste.

Peter had a few blessed moments to get himself under control. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. When he dared look at Neal, he saw the man still rocking in his seat like a child who had to go to the bathroom. With his right hand he held the indentation in the door that passed for the arm of a seat as hard as Peter was holding the wheel.

Neal gave him a desperate look. "I have to do something," he said, caressing Peter's neck with his left hand.

"Sit on your hand," Peter ordered.

Neal obeyed, looking intrigued. "Well, that's a challenge," he said, smiling. By his wriggles, Peter realized Neal was trying to reach his own balls from beneath his thigh.

"Neal, dammit," Peter growled. Thank God they were here. He parked and they both ripped free from their seatbelts and pelted toward the house.

No one from June's family or staff greeted them, thank heavens, so they were up the stairs and into Neal's suite in no time. Neal locked the door behind them. Peter turned to face him, a four foot distance separating them. Neal grinned and removed his tie in one deft motion.

Right. Clothes. Peter started peeling out of his own.

"What do you want, now?" Neal asked, already down to undershirt and briefs.

Somewhat unbalanced as he removed his socks, Peter said, "I've had my present. What do you want? You've done enough."

"Aw, that's sweet, Peter, but I don't know." Naked, Peter saw Neal was still flushed and fully aroused, but his smile was more teasing than desperate and his blue eyes danced. He was beautiful in much the way El was beautiful. She seemed magical and unpredictable to Peter, and so did Neal, but El was safe and Neal was so, so risky. "I don't like to just meet standards, I want to exceed them," Neal said.

Peter fought the urge to get his hands all over Neal; once he did that, he'd completely lose it. He swallowed. "You've been reading agent performance reports. What did you have in mind?"

"What do you have in mind? Now is no time to go all self-sacrificing – this is still your present. You've been thinking about what we could do all day. I know you have. You're still in charge, here. I'm not coming until you say I can. Shall I watch you jerk off? Or would you rather a blow job?"

Peter sucked in a breath, almost dizzy with sudden excitement. He reached for his crotch, desperately needing relief there, and squeezed a promise to his dick. "You could do that?" he asked, stepping back to where he knew the bed was behind him and sitting when he found it, his hand still caressing his dick. Neal's gaze was riveted on what Peter's hand was doing, and yes, oh yes, Peter wanted him to watch. Watch and not come. And ... he had another idea.

"I can," Neal said, and came gracefully to his knees in front of Peter. He thought Peter meant the blow job.

"No, watch." Peter said, increasing the speed of his strokes. Then, because he liked saying it, "Don't come."

Neal nodded, understanding, and sat back on his heels, watching intently, lips parted. His thick curly hair was plastered on his forehead.

Peter slowed, controlling himself, and saw Neal's eye-flicker of surprise. "Can you," Peter asked, "touch yourself while I do it?" Neal's eyes widened and went to Peter's face. "And not come?" Peter clarified.

Neal's mouth fell open in startled thought. "You – want that?" he asked, but sounded delighted, not pained. Peter smiled. "You said you wanted to exceed standards."

Neal grinned, one hand on his own dick with alacrity. "I've gotten good at that. Though for the record, it really sucks." He began stroking himself, and Peter sped up, he couldn't help it. Neal, masturbating, for him, not coming, not coming for _a week_, still not allowed, it was so delicious he almost couldn't bear it. "I still haven't said you can," Peter panted, increasing to a fierce rhythm.

"I know, I won't," Neal said, his eyes bright, watching Peter, his grin weak, his own rhythm uneven, teetering on out of control, but not quite ...

Peter came and came and came, groaning his ecstasy so loudly they could probably hear it in Jersey. He sprayed come around, and got some on Neal who gasped a laugh. Just before he fell back boneless on the bed he saw Neal had fallen forward on all fours, removing his hand from his dick the instant Peter no longer needed it. Good, good man, was Peter's last coherent thought.

He seemed to spend a long time in a place of physical bliss, but eventually came groggily around to find a naked Neal pressing against him and kissing him. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Neal murmured in his ear. "C'mon, Peter," more urgently.

Oh yeah, Neal. "Thank you," Peter said, and meant it fervently.

"You're welcome." Neal knelt and tried to haul Peter's dead weight toward the mountain of pillows at the head of the bed. "Now get your ass up here where I can fuck it." Peter tried to help, levering himself up on his elbows and scooting. He was limp; Neal was frenetic. "Unless, you have something else in mind, and if you do, you'd better speak up really fast, because I've got my sights set on your FBI ass." Neal got Peter propped halfway up, and stuffed a pillow beneath his butt for easier access. As Peter pulled his knees up and apart, he saw Neal had on one of his crazy multi-colored condoms. It made Peter think of a skit he'd seen with glow-in-the-dark balloons bumping against each other like swords. This one was lime green and ready for action.

 

"Anything you want, Neal. Anything," he vowed. Pleasure chemicals still poured through Peter; he fucking loved this man.

Neal fell forward, into Peter's arms. "Under other circumstances, I'd make you pay dearly for that promise, Peter, but as it is …" he made a small grunt of pure need, and Peter felt the tip of his cock at his anus. Peter looked into Neal's face and smiled. "No lube," Neal warned him. "I didn't dare – stroke – after the condom." Neal had lost the ability to speak without panting.

Peter hugged him and rubbed his back, feeling his ribcage. "There's lube on the condom," he said. "And believe me, I couldn't be more ready." As relaxed as Peter felt, Neal could have fit a fist in him. Still, he found the concern sweet and wiggled his ass against Neal's cock in invitation. "I can't believe you haven't just fucked me through the mattress yet."

Neal made a strangled sound. "Peter –" he pleaded. Peter focused on his face. "You have to say I can come." Neal's hips jerked, his cock begging for entry. "You haven't said it, yet."

Peter kissed him and smiled. "I will," he said.

"Wha – what?" Neal straightened his arms so he could look straight down into Peter's face. "You – you aren't going to screw with me like that, Peter?" He started to sag. "Because I can't –" Peter had never seen Neal look so wrecked. It was yet another snapshot he could file away for later use. God, this had been a great birthday present.

"Neal, get inside me, now," Peter said, with a hint of his "ordering" voice. "Trust me. I'm not screwing with you. Not in the metaphorical way." Neal was falling, almost like a faint, against him, his desperately hard cock still positioned for entry. Peter pushed back against it, relaxing his already sedated muscles, and actually captured the tip. Helpless, Neal jerked against him, the head penetrating easily. He made a sound like a sob.

"I won't be able to –" Neal gasped. His tiny jerks were involuntary, born of immense physical desperation, but stayed short of the pumping he so needed. "I don't want to let you down now."

Peter hugged him, pulling him farther in as Neal trembled in his arms. "Neal you couldn't possibly," he murmured. But Neal had personal standards even higher than Peter had for him. "Say it, Peter. Say I can come," he cried.

Peter slid against him, taking him all the way in, squeezed his ass tight over Neal's cock and pumped. "Come, Neal," he ordered. "Come now. Come all you want."

Neal cried out his relief, and pounded two punishing strokes into Peter before throwing back his head and crying out in earnest. Peter held him in place, knowing that Neal's awareness of his body's position was impaired, to say the least, his limbs trembling and jerking. "Beautiful," Peter murmured. When Neal was spent, gasping and limp, Peter pulled him into a fierce hug, stroking and gentling him through the aftershocks.

They lay together, a tangle of cooling limbs and matching smiles. Peter watched Neal for a long time, rubbing him gently and knew Neal had returned somewhat when he snuggled closer in to Peter's side.

"Neal," Peter whispered. Neal fluttered his eyelids in response. "Thank you," he breathed. "No one's ever done something like that for me. I've never had a present so good." As he hoped, praise brought Neal around to himself. His blue eyes opened and looked dazedly into Peter's. "No one else could give me a gift that made me fifteen years younger." Peter didn't even mind that he was admitting concern about his age to a man not yet thirty. Neal deserved every compliment Peter could find. Peter kissed him on the nose. "Will you forgive me?" he asked.

Neal smiled slowly. He started to answer but had to clear his throat. Then, hoarsely, "If you get me off a few dozen more times, I'll think about it."

"Fair enough," Peter said.

"And Peter, next year?"

"Yes?"

Neal's smile turned impish. "Cufflinks."

Peter chuckled and kissed him. Neal came to life and kissed him back.


End file.
